Arman tightened his grip on Leila's wrist, dragging her along as her legs faltered beneath the weight of her trauma. She stumbled, her body sluggish as if her mind couldn't reconcile the need for urgency. Behind them, the guards' footsteps thundered, growing louder with every second.
"Leila!" Arman barked, his voice sharp but desperate. "They're after you, I don't know why but, I need you to run as fast as you can."
He pulled her into a shadowy alley, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He turned to her, his jaw set with determination. "I'll distract them."
"No!" Leila cried, clutching at his shirt with trembling hands, her knuckles white. "Please, Arman, don't leave me. I can't leave without you."
Arman hesitated for a moment.
"Leila," he said, his voice softer but no less urgent, pulling her closer so she couldn't look away. "I beg you, listen to me. Run and save yourself. I'll do what I can to lead them away."
She shook her head furiously, her voice breaking as she protested. "What about you? What if they catch you? Didn't you see what they did to Sister Nasrin and the rest of the women in the glory house? Arman, please, let's just go together."
"They're not after me," he said firmly, his hands gripping her shoulders. "If they catch me, I can talk my way out of it, I swear. But if they catch you…" He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. "You need to go somewhere safe. Jaleh's house—go there if you can. If not, hide. Anywhere you can."
Her lips trembled, tears spilling from her eyes as she stared at him. "But—"
"No buts," he cut her off, his voice trembling as much as hers. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers for a brief moment of connection amidst the chaos. "Promise me you'll go. Run as far as you can, and meet me back home when it's safe."
Leila swallowed hard, nodding through her tears. "I promise," she whispered, though the words felt like ash in her mouth.
"Good," Arman said, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled her into a fierce hug. "Please, be safe."
Leila's heart raced as her feet pounded against the cobblestone streets, her breaths coming in short, frantic gasps. She turned sharply to the right, darting down another alley without knowing where it would lead. The only thought in her mind was to run. Run far. Run fast.
This is nothing. She repeated the words like a mantra, trying to drown out the terror threatening to overwhelm her. I've escaped death before. I can do it again.
For Arman, for her sisters—Nasrin, Minoo, and the others whose lives were snatched away so cruelly—she couldn't let herself be caught. She had to survive. Not just for herself, but to bring justice to the house of Governor Arash. If it meant groveling before Shahkhur to use his assistance, then so be it.
"There she is!" a guard bellowed from behind her, his voice sharp with authority.
Her breath hitched, and adrenaline surged through her veins. Without thinking, she sprinted in the opposite direction, her legs screaming in protest. She turned into a quieter street.
Leila's lungs burned, her ribs aching from the exertion. Her legs wobbled, threatening to collapse beneath her, but she couldn't afford to stop—not until she saw the guards. Where are they? she thought, her mind racing as her body began to falter.
She came to an abrupt halt, her chest heaving as she scanned the area for refuge. The street was eerily silent, lined with buildings whose windows were shuttered tight, but something stood out—a carriage.
It wasn't an ordinary one. The craftsmanship was exquisite, its polished wood gleaming even in the light. The insignia of a noble family adorned its side, though Leila didn't recognize it. More importantly, it was unguarded. The driver was nowhere in sight.
Her heart thudded as a desperate plan formed in her mind. She reached into the small pouch at her waist and pulled out a dagger, its blade gleaming faintly.
She just need somewhere to hide
She glanced around one last time, ensuring no one was watching. If it came to it, she'd hold the owner hostage.
She sprinted toward the carriage, her breath ragged and her heart pounding in her chest. Without hesitation, she yanked the door open, revealing the lavish interior and the man seated within.
He was unlike anyone she had ever seen. His long black hair flowed like a silken river, framing a face kissed by the sun with a complexion that was neither too pale nor too dark. His eyes, an unusual shade of purple, shimmered with an almost hypnotic quality, akin to the rarest of pearls glinting under moonlight. For a moment, Leila froze, utterly captivated by his gaze. He wore a robe of fine silk, its intricate embroidery and opulent fabric marking him as someone of considerable wealth and status—perhaps a noble, or even a governor.
It struck her as unbelievable that such men still roamed the kingdom, the kind who seemed to step out of legends.
The man, whose expression had been serene as he leafed through a thick book, now looked up sharply. His brow furrowed as he snapped the tome shut, the sound echoing like a reprimand in the small space. There was irritation in his violet gaze, though it was tempered with curiosity.
"And who might you be?" he asked, his voice smooth yet edged with authority. He glanced down at the book in his lap, as if mourning the interruption, before returning his attention to her. It wasn't every day that a disheveled stranger burst into his private carriage, brandishing a blade no less.
Moments ago, he had been lost in the rhythmic verses of a poem, one that required all his focus to properly recite. Composed by a master poet who had once traversed the eight seas, the work demanded reverence, patience, and absolute silence. To be interrupted mid-rehearsal—by a commoner, no less—was an act bordering on insubordination.
But as his gaze swept over her, irritation gave way to intrigue. Despite her state—her face swollen and streaked with grime, her clothes soaked with sweat—there was a delicate beauty about her, like a wildflower blooming defiantly amidst thorns. And oh, this flower had thorns indeed.
She held a ragged dagger in her trembling hand, the weapon's dull edge pointed directly at him. Her eyes burned with determination, though fear flickered at their edges.
"Let me inside your carriage," she commanded, her voice firm despite the quaver that threatened to betray her
The man raised his hands slightly, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips as though he found the entire situation amusing rather than threatening.
"Well," he drawled, his tone rich with mockery, "that's certainly one way to ask, Miss Thief."
Her eyes widened, a mixture of shock and indignation flashing across her face at the accusation.
He leaned back leisurely, as though entirely unbothered by the blade. "Though, I must say, when you're holding a knife, you might as well skip the asking altogether, don't you think?"
There was a tense silence between them, the air thick with unspoken challenges.
"Just get inside," he said, his mocking tone laced with amusement. "What's the point of pulling a knife if you're only going to end up begging?"
Her jaw tightened, and her glare could have scorched him on the spot. "I'm not here to play games with you," she shot back, stepping into the carriage as though his invitation were an order rather than a taunt.
"Now that's more like it," he mused, leaning back with a smug grin that only deepened her scowl. "So, tell me, what is it you want? My clothes? My jewelry? Or are you after money? And please don't hurt me, I promise to cooperate."
He begged mockingly.
"No," she snapped, cutting him off. Her voice rose in frustration, a blend of anger and desperation. "Will you just shut up? I need to concentrate!"
Her knuckles whitened as her grip on the knife tightened, the dull blade trembling in her hand. For a moment, she closed her eyes, straining to hear the muffled voices outside.
"Where is she?!"
"I think we might need to check that carriage."
"And I think we should search the houses too."
The guards' shouts sent a wave of panic through her. She needed a plan, but the man in front of her was proving to be a maddening distraction. Just as her thoughts began to spiral, she felt the knife wrenched from her grasp.
"No!" A startled cry escaped her lips at the loss of her only means of defense. Almost immediately, she was flung against the plush cushions of the seat. Her breath caught in her throat when she realized he had moved with lightning speed, pinning her beneath him. His weight pressed her into the seat, and his violet eyes glinted with unrestrained amusement as he leaned over her.
"Rule one," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with mockery, "never take your eyes off your hostage."
Her heart raced, not from fear of the guards but from the realization that she was utterly outmatched. He wasn't taking her seriously. To him, this was nothing more than a game.
He glanced toward the locked door of the carriage, his gaze sharp and calculating. "So, you're the one they're after, aren't you?"
She tried to wriggle free, but he held her fast, his grip unyielding. Panic bubbled in her chest as she met his piercing gaze.
"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling now, her earlier bravado crumbling. "Please, I beg you."